They met at a tavern on the outskirts of town where no one knew them. A light rain had driven more people indoors than usual. The scent of the hearty stew and ale that was being consumed hung thick in the air. Amaia found it more pleasant to focus on those scents than the stench of sweat and skin permeating the atmosphere. Lawrence had been right all those years ago: she had eventually learned to ignore the stink of human.
In a corner toward the back, Amaia spotted Meg—whose face broke into a smile at seeing Amaia—sitting next to Liam. It was nice to know her friend looked forward to their time together as much as she did. Amaia made her way over, seating herself on Meg’s other side so they could look out over the tavern patrons together.
“Ah, the glorious, the infamous, the dazzling Amaia has chosen to grace us with her presence after all.” Liam was in a mood. Amaia was later than she had anticipated, and Liam hated waiting on her. His only feeling of friendship for Amaia came from knowing how important she was to Meg. That was fine with Amaia. She shot him a piercing sideways glance and embraced Meg.
“How did it go? Was the viscount as dreadfully boring as he looked?” Meg had followed Amaia and seen the viscount at their meeting place. She was almost as bad as a human when it came to gossip. Meg seemed to think it was endlessly entertaining to hear how the aristocracy behaved behind closed doors. Amaia couldn’t care less, but she supposed that came partly from working with them so much.
“He was even more boring. The bumbling fool was only all too proud to share that he was privy to some of the discussions taking place amongst the emperor’s advisors.”
“Humans don’t understand loyalty. Not the way we do.” Meg locked eyes with Liam for a brief moment in a slight acknowledgement of the absolute loyalty they shared. Amaia wondered if that level of loyalty really did feel different from the loyalty she felt toward Lawrence.
“Of course not. They don’t mate like we do—my profession is proof of that—and when their actions lead to death, they believe they are going to something better. If one of us crosses the other, we know that our death is permanent.”
“Their religion seems to cause more strife than anything else.” Liam’s gruff voice conveyed just how stupid he thought the entire thing was.
“They have a need to feel as if there’s something bigger than them. It’s stupid, but can you blame them? Their lives are so small and insignificant. I think a part of them knows just how small they are. It doesn’t seem worth it unless there’s someone bigger out there caring.” Amaia knew there was no god, but she also couldn’t explain the eyes that continued to haunt her. She could empathize somewhat with those who sought to make sense of what they didn’t understand. It was one of the few areas where she was willing to admit to herself a likeness with humans.
“What happened with the viscount?” Meg was quick to steer the conversation back to gossip.
“He didn’t even realize what he was doing. Why anyone would confide in him is really beyond me. The whole job went without a hitch, and now I am positively starving for some fun tonight.”
“Well, we were just thinking about joining this next game of cards. Care to?” Meg and Amaia shared a love for cards, and Liam loved taking mortals for all they were worth. Nothing sobered a man as much as realizing that, in one hand, he had lost his entire life savings.
Amaia surveyed the men around one of the tables. They looked like they had enough money to be reckless, but not enough that a losing streak wouldn’t be devastating. Just the right amount of arrogance. “As long as we don’t play all night. I was hoping to find a transient to kill.” Lawrence didn’t like her to kill too often, but it had been a while, and a transient wouldn’t be missed.
“Very well then, we’ll play until that fellow there”—Liam pointed to a stout man, a merchant by his clothes, who loudly boasted that he would best any man there at a game—“signs over his entire fortune to me, and then we’ll each get a kill and watch the sun rise.” Liam rose from the table and went over to the gentlemen to arrange the details of himself and his dear wife and “sister” joining the game.
“What did Liam do to get you more doe-eyed than usual?” Amaia turned back to Meg.
Meg raised her eyebrows in the most pathetic expression of innocence.
“Don’t give me that look. I know you want to tell me about whatever romantic gesture he made. Just because I don’t have a mate doesn’t mean you shouldn’t talk about yours.”
Meg sighed, and her face relaxed into the look she always had when she talked about Liam. “We went to see a new mural being painted in one of the churches. It was exquisite, or at least good enough that Liam decided to let the painter live. Then we ate, and Liam took me to this romantic little spot on a quaint bridge and recited some of his latest poetry to me.”
Meg often extolled the wonder of Liam’s skill as a poet, but he never shared it with anyone but her. What would it be like to have secrets like that? “I can’t imagine Liam being the way you describe. You two make me sick sometimes.”